


Broken Upon the Rocks

by lforevermore



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bucky and the Winter Soldier share a body but are not the same person, Choking, Controlling Behavior, Darcy calls Bucky "James", Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Eventual healthy polyamory, Face Slapping, Forced Infidelity, Hair Pulling, Kidnapping, Knotting, Manipulation, Multi, Omega Darcy Lewis, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Restraints, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, breeding talk, forced mating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 04:03:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15987242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lforevermore/pseuds/lforevermore
Summary: "Broken upon the rocks, let the beating waves come drag me down." -- "One Last Night" by Vaults---HYDRA has figured out the perfect way to get to Steve Rogers, and Darcy is a casualty of war. Can Darcy piece the broken James Buchanan Barnes back together, or will she be shattered into a thousand pieces herself?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings.
> 
> Non-consensual acts are between Darcy and The Winter Soldier, there is quite a bit of sexual and domestic violence. 
> 
> The endgame is Steve/Darcy/Bucky.

Darcy is taken on a Thursday.

She’s not sure if it’s still Thursday when she wakes. She doesn’t think it is – she has brief flashes of memory, a needle at her neck inside a car, an IV drip on some kind of dark jet. She doesn’t think she’s still in North America anymore either, not if the way that the cold rattles her bones when she wakes is any indication.

Her head _aches_ , like someone… well, like someone’s kept her sedated, if not completely unconscious, for an indeterminate period of time. Darcy can barely open her eyes, and when she does, she realizes that she is, without a doubt, going to throw up.

She heaves, and hands lift her, force her head over the side of whatever it is she’s laying on. They hold her up while she coughs and dry-heaves, not enough in her stomach for her to throw up more than bile, and one hand even gathers up her hair, holding it back and away from her face. When she’s done, when her body finally calms down, the hands lower her back onto – well, it seems like a bed - surprisingly gentle.

Darcy finally cracks an eye open, and thankfully the room is dim. She freezes when she realizes there’s someone else there – of course there is, who else would have kept her from throwing up on herself? It’s not Steve, she knows that much. The scent around her is some strange mix of chocolate and campfire, and it makes her think of s’mores, whereas the scent of Steve, the scent of her Alpha, was more like the crisp clean linen of a clothing line. It’s definitely an Alpha, though – she can smell that beneath the chocolate and wood smoke.

Finally she manages to get both eyes open, the dim lighting in the room lancing through her head as though it were the sun. She can finally get her first visual of the Alpha, shirtless, scruffy, longer dark hair. She knows that face, from the files that Steve has shown her, from the images that Steve holds dear, from her history books all through high school.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier.

Darcy must tense again, because Barnes grabs her, pushes her head over the side of the bed like she’s going to throw up again. Just as he’s gently gathering up her hair, she shakes her head, manages to convey that she’s okay, that she doesn’t need the bucket at his feet.

He levers her back, and this time she manages to remain sitting up somewhat, eyeing Barnes and trying to get a clue as to his mental state.

When he doesn’t say anything, she swallows, throat dry and lips chapped. “Did you kidnap me?”

“No,” he says, still staring down at her, practically unmoving. His voice is soft, though, like he’s trying very hard to be gentle with her. “HYDRA did.”

“Where am I?”

“Russia. I can’t tell you more than that.”

Darcy wants to look around, but the omega doesn’t dare tear her eyes away from the Alpha above her, staring him down as though to prove she isn’t some kind of easy prey. He isn’t menacing, at least not purposely, but she knows from Steve that while Barnes is a sweetheart, the Winter Soldier is anything but. She needs to know who she is dealing with here. After a moment of gathering her courage, she finally manages to ask, “Who are you right now?”

A strange smile quirks at the corner of his lips, and then it’s gone as soon as it came. For a second, he looks almost… proud. “I don’t know,” he says, “but I’m not the Soldier right now.”

Good enough for Darcy. She breathes a quick, relieved sigh, and lays back down gingerly, now that she knows she won’t need to bolt away. The room is still spinning, but not as intensely, and she thinks maybe the side effects of the sedative are wearing off.

“You’re Sergeant Barnes,” she says, thinking back to the file. “James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.”

“Yeah,” Barnes says, tone indecipherable and face blank. “He called me that. Steve.”

Darcy nods against the pillow. “Yeah, he’s your best friend. Can I call you Bucky?”

“No.”

The answer surprises Darcy, and it must show.

“I’m not him,” he says. “I don’t know who I am, but I’m not Bucky.”

Darcy nods slowly. “Can I call you James?” she finally asks, and he seems to regard her for a long moment, scrutinizing, before nodding that yes, she can.

“When I’m like this, you can,” he finally says, and he looks away. “When I’m… the Soldier, don’t. He hates me.”

That definitely sounds ominous. It sounds an awful lot like Darcy will have to deal with the dreaded Winter Soldier sooner or later… more likely sooner, than later. Which leads to her next question. “Why am I here?”

Barnes – no, James looks at her, and Darcy can see the pangs of regret on his face. “HYDRA figures if you’re good enough to keep up with Steve, you can keep up with me. Then there’s the added _bonus_ of hitting him where it hurts.” His tone is completely blank, no inflection at all, like he’s detaching from the situation.

Darcy swallows, is aware that she’s trembling ever-so-slightly as she slowly sits up again. “James,” she says, almost pleading. “You can’t, Steve’s my _Alpha,_ we’re going to mate... You’re his best friend, we can’t…”

“We’re not going to have a choice.” She sees him clench his fists at his side, and forces herself to look back at his face, searching for any minute changes. She doesn’t think that James will hurt her, but if he should transition into the Soldier, she has no idea what will happen. “My rut starts any time. I won’t be able to hold the Soldier back, and he’ll mark you because they told him to.”

“Because it will hurt Steve,” Darcy says, quiet and devastated. “And then what, then I stay here in this room forever?”

“No.” Hands suddenly grip her shoulders, one flesh and one metal, and Darcy jerks her head up to find James’s face incredibly close to hers. “No, then I get us out, and I bring you back to him. Listen to me, Ms. Lewis,” he says, and Darcy wonders for a split second how he knows her name. “You can’t fight the Soldier, okay? Don’t give him a reason to hurt you.”

Darcy nods, slow. “Us,” she says, softly. “You bring _us_ back to him. He loves you too.”

James pulls away, warmth leaving her shoulders, and then he’s back to standing over her just beyond her reach. She misses the comfort immediately, and chides herself for it. “He won’t. Not after what the Soldier will do to you.”

Darcy can’t reply to that. Instead, she focuses on breathing, on not having a panic attack, tries to remember the calming methods that her therapist had taught her even before New Mexico. She can still feel the anxiety rising, the coil of something heavy in her gut that makes her want to throw up again, and her breath comes quicker.

A hand lands on the back of her neck, warm, and grips just tight enough that her instincts kick in, and she immediately settles. “Breathe, Ms. Lewis,” James says. “It’s alright. It’s going to be okay, I’m gonna take care of you.” Steve has done this for her too, talked her down from a panic attack while playing the Alpha card. It’s a little old-fashioned, but Darcy honestly loves it – feels safe when Steve puts her down into that omega space in her head. Apparently, James can do it, too, because Darcy’s breathing starts slowing, and though the anxiety is still present, the panic recedes.

“Darcy,” she finally says, quiet beneath his hand. “Call me Darcy.”

“Alright, Darcy,” James replies, and slowly pulls his hand away. “We need to feed you, and then you need to rest. Build up your strength.”

“How long will your rut last?” Darcy asks, hoping the answer will be short.

“I don’t know,” James says. “I haven’t had one in a long time. Three days, at least, maybe longer.”

That… wasn’t the answer that Darcy had been hoping for, to say the least.

 

It turns out that she is just in the bedroom of what seems to be a cold, clinical suite of sorts. The walls are reinforced steel, presumably built strong enough that James can’t punch his way out as the Soldier. There’s a bathroom, a little living area with an uncomfortable couch, and a kitchenette, complete with a fridge stocked full of healthy food.

James sits Darcy on the couch when they figure out that her legs are still weak, and she studies the bookshelf nearby while he puts together something for her to eat. All the titles are in Russian, she finds.

“Have you been here the whole time?” she asks, turning away from the spines of the books to watch him at the counter.

“No,” he says. “They caught me and brought me back after…” He stops, glancing at Darcy.

“After you pulled Steve out of the river,” Darcy prods.

“After I tried to kill him,” James corrects, self-derision plain on his face. “Multiple times.”

“That wasn’t you, and you know it.”

James brings her a simple sandwich, and Darcy realizes just how hungry she is. “Think what you want,” he says, and sits down next to her.

She notices his lack of sandwich. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

James looks away, guilt written all over his expression. “No, I’m nauseated.”

A classic sign of an Alpha about to go into rut. Darcy suddenly doesn’t want to eat either.

“You need your strength, Darcy. Eat,” James says, and there’s just enough Alpha behind his voice that Darcy picks up the sandwich and eats.

When she’s done, they sit in silence, and Darcy’s stomach rolls. “Is…” she tries, but the question sticks in her throat. “Is there anything I should… know about the Soldier?”

James is quiet for a long time, long enough that Darcy wonders if he’s even going to answer. When he does, she certainly doesn’t like what he has to say. “He’s sadistic,” James says softly, and repeats, “Don’t give him a reason to hurt you.”

“But he’s going to anyway,” Darcy says, voice as quiet as his. “Isn’t he?”

Another long silence, and then a shame-laced, broken, “Yes.”

They don’t talk after that.

 

Darcy finally falls into a fitful sleep in the dim bedroom, with James on the bed beside her, carefully not touching her. It should be a comfort that he’s trying to give her space out of respect for the coming storm, but she finds that she would rather be held and comforted – however, she doesn’t know how to ask.

Her feelings are complicated. Mostly, she’s numb – like what’s about to happen isn’t _really_ going to happen, like she can just sleep through it, like it’s a bad dream she’ll wake up from any minute. Steve has told her before that she’s the strongest woman he knows, but Darcy thinks this will test that, and the thought of him sends a sad little pang through her chest. She wants him, more than anything, but… it’s strange that she feels she knows James, too. Maybe it’s all the stories she’s heard of Bucky Barnes, maybe it’s something deep inside her that knows that James wants this just as much as she does – which is, to say, not at all.

There’s comfort in that, as strange as it is.

Darcy wakes again in the dim lighting, and this time her head doesn’t hurt and her stomach doesn’t roll. She can smell the sickly sweet headiness in the air, and if James hasn’t begun his rut already, he’s very close. She’s laying on her stomach, and so she lifts her head to look around when she realizes that he’s not beside her.

Before she can spot him, though, there’s a hand on the back of her neck, tangling in her hair. This time it’s not gentle – it’s a firm grip, almost rides the edge of too tight, bruising. It’s only after it presses her back down onto the bed that Darcy realizes it’s James’ bionic hand, metal warm and solid against her.

She shivers, and tells herself that she’s reacting to the scent of his rut. It’s not a lie, not exactly – she’s always liked it more than a little rough, but she has a feeling that the Winter Soldier will be too rough for even her. Still, Darcy likes the firm grip around the back of her neck, and arousal cuts through the fear creeping up her spine.

Silence.

Then, the bed dips, and Darcy can feel the Soldier’s weight above her. She wants to call out for James, wants to call out for _Steve_ , but neither of them… neither of them are here right now. It’s just her, and the Winter Soldier.

“Don’t move.” The words are spoken softly, but there’s a _lot_ of Alpha power behind them. Darcy can’t help the whimper that escapes her as a result, and she is very careful to be completely still when the bionic hand pulls away from her skin.

Another weight on the other side of her – the Winter Soldier is slow, deliberate in his movements, straddling her thighs. A hand strokes down her side, sudden and soft, and Darcy can’t help but jump, not expecting the gentle touch. To her surprise, the Winter Soldier shushes her. Even that simple noise has power behind it, and Darcy finds herself settling as he strokes her side like she’s a skittish animal.

Then, hands braced beside her head, and he’s leaning over her back, blanketing her. She feels like a field mouse caught by a tiger, like his arms are creating a cage around her. Darcy still doesn’t dare move, doesn’t dare turn her gaze from where her cheek rests on the sheets.

 “You’re trembling,” the Winter Soldier says, and it’s amazing how he can sound exactly like James and yet not at all like him at the same time. The Winter Soldier speaks with more deliberation, Darcy thinks, like he’s purposely choosing every word for maximum damage. “Are you scared of me, omega?”

Darcy doesn’t know if she should speak, but she knows she shouldn’t move, he’d told her not to move.

He shifts, rests his weight on one arm and brushes her hair away from her face with his left hand, bionic fingers gentle against her skin. He moves slowly enough that Darcy doesn’t flinch away, but she does admit that he’s right; she’s shaking ever-so-slightly.

“You are.”

This time Darcy does flinch, not expecting the voice right next to her ear.

The Winter Soldier strokes her hair, head dropped low to speak into her ear. “You should be,” he says, and sounds strangely soothing in his darkness. Darcy wonders wildly if it’s the Alpha that he’s lacing his tone with, or the scent of his rut in the air, heady and cloying that has her hanging on his every word, the terror inside her calming. “You’re a smart girl to be scared of a man like me.”

The hand on her hair tightens suddenly, fisting in her waves and pulling until Darcy’s forced up off the sheets, baring her neck to him. One of her hands flies up, unbidden, to tug at his fingers and try to pry them away as her breath comes in gasps. He’s absolutely immovable, it’s like pulling at steel wrapped around her hair instead of his fingers.

“Are you going to be good for me, omega?” the Soldier asks, his voice still soft in her ear despite the tears gathering in her eyes. “Answer me.”

“Yes!” Darcy gasps. “Yes, please, I’ll be good!”

The hand on her hair releases, and Darcy drops her head back to the sheets. He resumes his position above her while she gathers herself, lets a little sob escape her, and she feels the ghost of lips pressing against her temple. His soft touches are violent in themselves, Darcy thinks, and they are just as much of a weapon as his strength is.

“They want me to claim you,” the Soldier murmurs against her skin, and drags his lips along her jaw in a slow, easy manner. “Because you’re _his_. And that’s all you are, aren’t you, omega? Just something else I can take from him.”

Something clicks over in Darcy’s mind – the switch that holds all her fear is suddenly flipped, and she suddenly feels _angry_. She is more than an omega, and it’s something that she’s been working her whole life to prove. She’ll be damned if she lets him take that from her.

“They told you to fuck me, _James_ , not talk my ear off,” she snaps, and immediately, _immediately_ regrets it when he goes completely still above her.

Suddenly, the weight of him is gone, and she’s alone on the bed. For a moment, she lays and waits for the pain or threat that’s sure to come, but after what has to be at least a minute, she gets brave enough to lift her head. Darcy needs to get him in her line of sight, needs to know where he is, or she’ll be an easy –

Darcy shrieks as she’s suddenly lifted bodily from the bed by an arm around her waist, just a single arm with the strength of a super-soldier. A metal hand closes around her throat, cutting her shout off along with most of her breath, and she scrabbles at his wrist, sucking in the little bit of air that the Soldier is allowing her.

“Brave, little girl,” he says in a low growl, nothing like the soft tone that he’d been using before. This is all anger and violence in her ear now. “That’s not who I am.” He drops her, and she would have hit the floor if he’d not kept her standing by the hand around her throat. Darcy stumbles when he presses her against the wall, still desperately trying to breathe. “I may not own you, yet, but _I_ am your Alpha. Not Steve Rogers. Not _James_. Me.”

He finally releases her throat, and Darcy gasps in air and sobs, hands coming up to her own tender skin like she can shield it from him. The Soldier drags his fingers down her cheek, and Darcy jerks away as they trace down her the column of her neck. She’s got nowhere to go, though, not with him pressed to her front.

“I can be gentle, omega,” he says, and he’s soft again, cloying and deep and dark like the woods that Darcy had always been afraid of as a child. “I can be so gentle if you can be good.”

This is where Darcy makes a choice, she thinks. This is where she chooses whether she goes down without a fight or if she at least makes him work for it. James had told her not to provoke the Winter Soldier, Steve had told her what he was capable of, and Darcy knows how this ends – there are no miraculous escapes here, just Darcy and someone she can’t defeat.

She wonders what Steve and Bucky would do with their backs to the wall like this, and makes her decision.

“My name is Darcy,” she says, voice trembling as she speaks. Her voice is hoarse from being choked. “And you are _not_ my Alpha.”

The hand that connects with her cheek in an open-palm slap is flesh and bone, but it’s still strong enough that it sends her to the ground, head snapping to the side and face aching. Before she can move, the Soldier has his fist in her hair again, keeping her down on the floor.

“Not yet,” he promises darkly. “But I will be.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy takes a moment of respite in the middle of the Winter Soldier's rut, but even that doesn't last long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the tags and warnings.
> 
> Also, I live for comments.
> 
> Follow my writing and stuff at inmywildernesswriting.tumblr.com

The Winter Soldier barely lets Darcy leave the bed. He doesn’t need rest like she does, and by the end of the first day, Darcy’s an absolute wreck. The clock on the nightstand says that it’s one-seventeen in the morning, and Darcy stares at the red numbers, eyes unfocused.

It’s a quiet moment, and she’s taking advantage of it. She doesn’t have the energy to pull away from the Soldier, so her head is on his right arm and his left is loose around her waist. She knows that if she tries to move, it will tighten into a vice grip, knows that he’ll press her into the bed and let his rut overtake him once more. As it is, she can feel the hard line of his cock against her back – it won’t be long before her respite is over.

God, she needs to pee, though.

Finally, she works up the courage to speak, and when she does, her voice is absolutely _destroyed_ , no doubt from screaming for the Soldier to stop or perhaps from begging the Soldier for more. She’s not really sure at this point – it’s all jumbled together in her mind.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she says, and her throat feels like sandpaper. “And get a drink.”

The arm around her waist, predictably, tightens, and she feels the Winter Solder nose at her neck from where he’s spooning her in a facsimile of a lover’s tangle. “Ask me nicely,” he says.

Darcy closes her eyes and swallows before blinking them open again. “Please.”

A beat, and then, “You can do better than that.” The hand that’s resting on her abdomen begins to stroke the skin there, and Darcy wants to sob. She’s about to lose her chance. “You were begging so pretty for me earlier.”

“Please, Alpha,” she says, desperation in her voice. Just a minute, she just needs a minute away from him.

To her relief, the arm around her waist draws away. “Be quick.”

Darcy makes it to the bathroom on weak legs, hand on the wall for support. She closes the door and rests her forehead against it for a moment, fighting back tears.

She’d given in. Of course she had, he was a master interrogator, had complete command of himself even in the throes of his rut, and though she had put up a good fight, she had given in and begged for more. She had _enjoyed_ herself at one point.

Darcy can’t think about that now.

She takes care of business as quickly as she can, fully aware that the Soldier had told her to be quick. She goes to wash her hands and gets a good look at herself in the mirror, pausing with her hands in the water.

There are bruises all over her body, a ring of them prominent around her neck, clear fingerprints on her skin. Bites are starting to bruise as well, along her jaw, neck, shoulders, and breasts. If she looks down, she can see them on her thighs, knows that there are one or two on the cheeks of her ass. There is even a bruise high on her cheekbone, and her lips are red from being bitten and forcefully kissed, the skin broken in one place on her lower lip. Her hair is a complete mess, of course, and she fiercely wants for a hair tie to keep it at least semi-tamed.

The part that bothers her, though, is the fresh mark on the junction of her neck and shoulder – a clear bite, one that will scar and mark her as the Soldier’s forever. It’s a mating mark, and it’s there until death does them part.

Darcy wants to cry. Even if Steve were to place his mark over it, it wouldn’t be her first. Society would judge her without knowing the truth. Darcy will always, always feel a pull towards James and the Soldier now.

The sound of the bathroom door opening draws her from her reverie. The Soldier stands in the doorway – Darcy can see him in the mirror – arms crossed and hard cock standing proudly between his legs.

“I told you to be quick,” he says, and his voice is surprisingly blank – there’s no undercurrent of Alpha power, no sinister quality. “Did you get your drink?”

She shakes her head, and reaches for the cup on the side of the sink, hand shaking with the effort of it. The Soldier beats her to it, reaching around her to pick the cup up. He’s got her trapped against the sink, one arm on either side as he fills the cup with water. His other arm wraps around her waist, and she sags against him, lets him hold her up, trusting him in a way that she knows she really, really shouldn’t.

The Soldier presses the cup to her lips, and she drinks without being told to, long and deep. He pulls it away after a moment and sits it on the counter, still half-full. She reaches for it, but he makes a noise that clearly says for her to stop.

“You’ll make yourself sick, doll,” he says, and he sounds surprisingly soothing. The pet name is definitely new. “We’ll take it into the bedroom with us.”

Darcy pauses against him, and ventures to ask a question. “Who are you right now?”

“It’s me, Darcy,” James says, and she could cry in relief. “The Soldier’s quiet for now.”

He helps her back to the bed and lifts her onto it, covers her with the comforter and puts the water on the nightstand nearby. Instead of reaching for it, though, Darcy reaches for him, desperately needing the gentle comfort that he can provide. He does, after all, smell like her Alpha, and her mating mark is fresh on her shoulder. She’s needy.

To her disappointment, he shakes his head. “If I make a sandwich, can you eat it?” James asks instead.

Darcy nods, doesn’t trust herself not to start sobbing if she opens her mouth to speak. She tries not to panic when he vanishes from the room and goes into the little kitchenette, comforts herself with the fact that he’s making enough noise that she can hear him. He’ll be back in a minute, he won’t abandon her here.

God, she’s needy.

When he comes back with a sandwich on a plate, Darcy reaches for him again. This time, he indulges her, takes a seat on the bed beside her close enough to touch – for her to choose to touch him. She quickly settles into his side, taking the sandwich he made and devouring it.

When Darcy’s done, he puts the plate on the nightstand and reaches for the water, holding onto it even as her shaky hands wrap around the cup to help her lift it to her lips.

“How do you have so much control?” she finally asks while he places the cup back on the nightstand. “I thought Alphas in rut were supposed to be half out of their minds.”

James looks at her like she’s lost her mind. “Darcy, have you seen yourself?”

She shakes her head. “He’s in control, though. He can speak full sentences, he can make deliberate decisions… it’s nothing like an omega heat. And even now, you’re not… pouncing on me.”

“It’s taking some concentration,” James admits. “I’m… trying to let you rest. Before he shows up again.”

Darcy gives that some thought, leaning against him and soaking up his warmth. Then she’s shakily kicking the comforter down and attempting to throw a leg over his, steadying herself with hands on his shoulders. Automatically, his hands grip her waist, holding her up and keeping her from tumbling down onto the bed.

“Darcy,” James says, a warning clear in his voice. She wonders if he can actually help being so very gently an Alpha. “What are you doing?”

“James,” she says, and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t move, like he’s holding himself back. “Please, Alpha.”

She can feel his resolve waver through their tentative, new mating bond. “You need to rest,” James says softly. “You need all the rest you can get, because he won’t let you.”

“I want a good memory too,” she says, and it’s like a rubber band stretching thin and then snapping against her skin.

James presses a kiss to her lips, so very gentle in comparison. There’s a hint of teeth, but not the clashing, violent bite that the Soldier had subjected her to over and over again, and when his tongue slips past the seam of her lips, Darcy lets out a sigh that can only be described as satisfied. His arms move from hands on her waist to wrap around her completely, press her naked body to his, and Darcy revels in the contact.

She can tell a difference, she realizes. She can tell this isn’t the Soldier, through their bond. The Soldier is so much darker than James, a heavy presence in the back of her mind, a house fire as smoke fills her lungs, but James… James feels like campfire smoke in the wind, light and free but no less consuming.

She wonders what Steve would feel like, and quickly pushes the thought from her mind. Darcy can’t think about him right now, can’t handle the guilt that will come along with it.

Darcy breaks from their kiss, tries to lift up so that she can ride him, but finds that her legs won’t hold her very well. “I’m gonna need help,” she says. “I’m sore.”

“I’m sorry,” James says, hand coming up to stroke her cheek softly. “God, I’m so sorry, Darcy.”

“It’s _not_ your fault,” Darcy says firmly. “This is not you, and you know it. Now lay me down.”

James is gentle as he presses her down into the covers, kisses his way down her neck. It takes her a minute to figure out that he’s kissing every single bruise that the Soldier has left on her upper body.

“James,” Darcy chides gently. “Alpha, stop fighting your rut, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he says. “You’re already hurting, and don’t tell me you’re not.” He sounds guilty again, and Darcy wants to roll her eyes, but she’s too caught up in the gentle waves of calm that he’s sending through the bond.

“Please,” Darcy says again, isn’t above using all the tricks she has up her sleeve.

James gives in and kisses his way up again, one hand dropping between her legs to gently lift one and wrap it around his waist. Darcy does the other one herself, locks her feet behind his back, and waits for the press of him inside her, lets her eyes fall closed.

It doesn’t come. Instead, there are hands suddenly around her wrists, pressing them to the bed by her head hard enough to bruise. Darcy yelps, eyes flying open, and struggles against the hold, but there’s no chance of escape, and dark, heavy smoke fills her mind where the mating bond rests.

“Be still.” Alpha power in a quiet, dark voice. Darcy stops struggling at the command, knows that voice well.

The Winter Soldier stares down at her.

“You’re not his,” the Soldier says, and thrusts into her with no preamble, no pretense. Darcy lets a pained noise escape her – she’s so sore, and the Soldier is big. The Soldier doesn’t seem to care, drawing out and thrusting in again, and tears gather in Darcy’s eyes at the situation, at the pain. “He doesn’t get this, little omega. This is all mine.” Another thrust, and Darcy outright sobs, feels the Soldier’s pleasure through their bond at her pain. “He won’t get to knot you. He won’t get to _breed_ you.”

“No,” Darcy gasps. “I can’t, please, I can’t take it!”

“You can and you will,” the Soldier says. Darcy can feel the pressure of his knot at her entrance, and she struggles, uselessly, against his hold. He doesn’t laugh at her – the Soldier doesn’t laugh at all – but Darcy is aware of a satisfied feeling that leaks through their bond. He’s reveling in his control over her, reveling in the way that only he can hurt her.

He presses into her, and Darcy screams in pain and rage at her helplessness. She can feel as the knot grows inside of her, and she is effectively trapped by his weight and his cock alone – the Soldier releases her wrists, and all of the rage inside Darcy builds and crests suddenly. She slaps him, and it’s clear that he isn’t expecting her to lash out in such a way, as it’s less like hitting a brick wall and more like actually slapping a man. The Soldier retaliates with his own slap, and it hurts, a shock of pain on her cheek, another bruise added to Darcy’s collection.

“Stop struggling and take it,” the Soldier commands, and Darcy obeys, angry, pained sobs escaping her. She has no other choice.

He’s tied to her now, locked inside her. It hurts, but not as badly as it would if Darcy tried to pull away.

The Soldier rearranges them, back to that mockery of a lover’s embrace, spooning her. To Darcy’s surprise, he pets her hair and shushes her as she cries, sending soothing, calming waves through the bond.

“He’s not enough for you,” the Soldier says. “Neither of them are – not Steve, not _James_. They don’t know how you come on my cock, omega, they don’t know how you begged me for more.”

“Stop,” Darcy begs.

She feels the press of lips against the crown of her head, and oh, his gentle touches are violent. She has to remember that, even as the bond desperately wants her to nestle against him, even as her instincts scream at her to take the dark, cloying comfort he’s offering.

“You won’t be able to escape me, omega.”

Darcy squeezes her eyes shut, tries to block out his voice, tries to stop the tears. She believes him, though, knows it’s true – even if he were to vanish, she’ll forever be his, she’ll always have these memories.

“You’re my new mission.”


End file.
